


one more for the stars

by imsosorry



Series: american football au [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A lot of Breaking Bad talk, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Football, American football au, And pretend Harry could ever play football, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Not much football for a football AU, Obviously you're going to have to suspend your disbelief a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsosorry/pseuds/imsosorry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's different, and Louis knows that, because Harry's got so much riding on this - a career and a future and his whole <i>life</i>. There's talk of him going first overall in the draft, of entering the NFL after only two years in college, of going to New York or Seattle or Green Bay, and Louis wants to be there for him, wants to support him and help him make decisions, but he also kind of wants to pin him to the bed and cry and scream, <i>What about me what about me what about me?</i></p><p>(au. Harry's the star quarterback and Louis is about to graduate. It's a heartbreak waiting to happen.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	one more for the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Ummmm. How do I explain this? What happened is this: I saw a pic of Harry Styles in a Green Bay Packers jersey, blacked out for a quick sec, and when I snapped out of it this idea had latched on to my brain. And I've recently discovered that when I can't get an AU out of my mind, the only option is to sit down and write it all in one insane, caffeine-fueled sitting. 
> 
> I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH how completely unrealistic and self-indulgent this is. It's crazy. None of this would ever happen. 
> 
> Sorry if this is shit. But, like. Harry Styles in a football jersey. So.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2guy0bm)  


[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2958v0h)

They meet in the bathroom of a Sigma Phi rush party during the first week of the fall semester. Louis' not actually in the fraternity - never rushed to begin with - but he and his roommate Zayn have a four-year-long tradition of crashing rush parties after two a.m. and taking advantage of the free booze and food after everyone's already too drunk to care.

Sigma Phi always goes all out for their rush events, so Louis is comfortably tipsy after several cans of beer and a couple shots of vodka, and no one's even noticed he's here. Five minutes after they'd arrived, Zayn had spotted some girl from his English lecture last spring, and Louis hasn't seen him since. 

Though he'd never bothered to join a frat himself, Louis loves these parties, loves the people-watching and the atmosphere and the anonymity and excitement of it all. He's a senior now, twenty-one-years-old and well on his way to earning a Political Science degree with absolutely no idea what he plans to do with it, and his life has more or less flat-lined. He's afraid of growing up and afraid of getting a real job and afraid of never being happy, but mostly he's just really, really drunk. 

There's a huge crowd of girls on the stairwell that make it nearly impossible to pass, but he powers through, desperately in need of a piss. The second floor of the frat house has a ton of doors, most of them locked, but then he turns a corner and sees a sign that says "CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES, YOU PIGS!!!" so he figures that must be a bathroom, then. He pushes through without knocking, because he's fucking _drunk_ and nothing sounds better than taking a piss and washing his face right now. 

"Oh, shit," a deep voice says, and his head snaps right up at that, fully expecting to see some freshman hunched over the toilet or zipping up his pants in shame, but instead he's greeted with the sight of a very pretty, fully dressed boy sitting on the toilet, playing on his phone.

"Uh," Louis says ineloquently. 

"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to hog the toilet," the boy rushes to get out. He stands up quickly - he's tall and lanky and he's got fucking _curls_ , what the fuck - and makes as if to leave, but Louis is blocking the door and his brain isn't processing things very quickly at the moment. 

"What were you doing?" he asks, gesturing to the boy's phone.

Pretty Boy blushes. "Um - my mom played a word in Words With Friends? So I came in here to focus because, like. We're pretty competitive." 

Louis lets out a sharp bark of laughter. It's such a refreshingly lame answer, and the boy is such a pretty pink, that he suddenly feels like he's high, even though he didn't smoke any of Zayn's joint on the way here.

"That's lame, I know," Pretty Boy concedes, but he's grinning. He's the kind of boy who is so beautiful he can get away with playing Scrabble alone against his mother while a rager goes on around him, and still seem effortlessly cool. Louis tries to be surreptitious about his once-over, but he's never been very subtle when he's drunk, and he's sure Pretty Boy can tell. But it doesn't much matter, because Pretty Boy must get checked out all the time: he's wearing black skinny jeans and a plaid shirt that's unbuttoned almost shockingly low, revealing milky collarbones and the beginnings of what appears to be a very well-defined stomach. 

"'M Harry, by the way," Pretty Boy says, extending a hand like they're at a high-class function rather than a fucking kegger. 

Louis takes it bemusedly. "Louis," he offers. 

"This is my first frat party," Harry tells him with a smile. "They're not really my thing, I guess." 

"Not mine, either," Louis says. "But, you know. Free beer, so." 

Harry cackles like Louis' just said something genuinely hilarious rather than a half-assed attempt at flirting, but Louis will take it. Laughing at Louis' jokes has always been the surest way to his heart. 

"You a first year?" Louis asks, partly because Harry said it was his first frat party, but also because he does look pretty young. He's tall and built, but with his huge sparkly Disney Prince green eyes and pink lips, he could easily be eighteen. 

"Second," Harry says. "You?" 

"Fourth," Louis says. 

Harry's eyes light up. "So you're graduating after this year? That's so exciting. What are you studying?" 

"Poli Sci," Louis says. "Not all that exciting, actually. You'll see, when you're old and washed-up like me. When all that's in front of you is a vast wasteland of unemployment..." 

"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," Harry says, lips twitching like fighting against a grin. 

"You're probably a genius Engineering major who'll never need to worry about all that, right?" Louis asks. 

"I'm studying English and Philosophy, actually," Harry says. 

Louis' eyes widen. "You're going to be more unemployable than _me_ ," he says. 

Harry just shrugs. "Eh, I'll figure something out." 

They stare at each other for a while after that, the energy between them definitely...something. Louis hasn't put much effort into getting laid recently, but he's suddenly wondering what it'd be like to try to flirt his way into Harry's bed. It'd make a good story - drunkenly picking up a hot boy at a frat party. Something for the bucket list, surely. 

"I'll leave the bathroom to you, then?" Harry says, breaking eye contact like he's snapping out of a daze. "I'll find a new corner to crush my mom in Words with Friends in, I guess." 

Louis stops thinking about sleeping with Harry and starts thinking about how they've spent less than five minutes talking, about how he's probably straight, about how he's drunk as all hell, about how he actually does have to piss. 

"See you around, Pretty Harry," Louis says, before he can think better of it. 

It's worth it, though, for the way Harry blushes and bites his lip as he closes the bathroom door. 

+

Louis doesn't think about Harry for a while after that. 

He was pretty drunk at the party, so his memories of the boy are all pretty hazy, anyway - he's _sure_ he's exaggerating how nice and curly his hair was, or how green his eyes were, for instance - and he's got bigger things to worry about, like writing a senior thesis and applying for graduation and figuring out the trajectory of his adult life. 

"Zayn," Louis groans one day, collapsing on to the couch after the first day of his Senior Research course. "Would you ever consider killing me, if you truly believed it was a mercy thing?" 

"Sure, Lou," Zayn says from where he's sketching at their shitty makeshift kitchen table. "I'd kill you even if it wasn't a mercy thing." 

Louis sighs and turns over on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. "You're a good friend." 

+

On the first Thursday of the semester, Louis has to get to campus at nine-thirty, for the elective two-credit course he'd decided to take on Breaking Bad. Or, as it was advertised in the school's registrar, "An intense, weekly course that analyzes and evaluates the impact of the hit show Breaking Bad on television, pop culture, and the drug trade." 

Louis had figured he owed it to himself to take at least _one_ cool class to balance out his otherwise hellish schedule, and as a senior he had priority registration, so he was able to enroll. He stops at one of the Starbucks on campus and still manages arrives to class two seconds to start, slipping in a seat toward the back. It's not a big class - had capped off at fifty - but it's held in a lecture hall, and taught by a young, trendy Film professor.

After a typically nerdy introduction, the professor powers up the projector at the front of the class, presumably to show a fan montage he's created or something. As he's working on the computer, the door at the front of the class opens. It's obviously a student who doesn't yet know to _always_ enter through a back door when late to avoid being reamed by a professor. 

"Ah, Mr. Styles, late on the first day," the professor says, looking up from his computer. "I admit, when I saw your name on the roster, I was wondering if you'd actually show up to class at all." 

Louis frowns, but doesn't look up from where he's doodling in the margin of his notebook. 

"Sorry, Professor," a deep voice says. "Won't happen again." 

Louis looks up at that, because he vaguely recognizes the voice even though he's never met someone with the last name "Styles." 

Of course, it's Harry, of Hiding-in-a-Bathroom-to-Play-his-Mother-in-Words-With-Friends fame. Louis feels something actually flutter in his stomach, because fate is a thing, right? It's a big campus, over 30,000 people, but he has a class with the same endearing and cute boy who he shared a companionable chat with in a bathroom once. That's sort of beautiful, he thinks. 

Today, Harry's wearing a dark green beanie and a gray shirt, and Louis' not above admitting his biceps are fucking _spectacular_. He hadn't been able to see them at the party, but Harry's got really nice arms. 

Harry's halfway up the steps of the lecture hall when he spots Louis in the back. He appears to recognize him right away, his face transforming into a literal beam as he waves and makes his way over to him. 

"Fancy seeing you here, Louis," he whispers as he takes the seat directly next to Louis, putting down his hipster backpack and pulling out a journal of some kind.

And it's not that it's such a huge deal to remember someone's names - Louis did remember Harry's, too, after all - but it is, kind of, because it's a cute boy and it's been _so long_ since a cute boy paid attention to Louis. 

"Couldn't resist Breaking Bad," Louis says with a casual shrug. 

Harry smiles at him for a long moment, before focusing his attention on where the professor has just begun to start a clip from the first season. Louis tries not to watch him out of his periphery, but he can't really help it. He wonders how Harry knows this professor well enough for the man to know his last name - how many film classes would he have taken as an English and Philosophy double major, anyway? It doesn't make very much sense, but then, cute boys never do. 

The class is over rather quickly, as the professor had just shown a few clips before discussing the objectives for the class and handing out a syllabus. It's kind of tragic, because halfway through the lecture Louis had discovered that Harry smells rather amazing, and he's been reveling in the scent ever since. 

"So you're a Breaking Bad fan, then?" Louis asks as they both begin packing their things. "I thought you looked like a man of taste." 

"Never seen it, actually," Harry says. "But I thought it looked like a cool class, so I thought, why not?" 

Louis gapes. "You've _never_ seen Breaking Bad?" he asks, and his gasp isn't even contrived. "You can't take this class, then! You'll have it spoiled!" 

"I think I'll be okay," Harry laughs. 

"No, it's not okay," Louis insists. "I'm saying this for your own good. You should absolutely binge watch it on Netflix this week so that you'll be prepared for next class." 

"Isn't it five seasons?" Harry asks incredulously. 

"I didn't say it would be _easy_ ," Louis responds with a sniff. 

"Well, what're you doing tomorrow?" Harry asks suddenly. They exit through the back door of the lecture hall and pause there. It's sunny outside, and Louis has to squint to look up to Harry. 

"Nothing," Louis says. "I don't have any classes on Friday." 

"Well, I've got the afternoon off because of the game on Saturday," Harry says. "So maybe we could, like...watch it together? Since you're such an enthusiast, and all." 

Louis is getting asked out. He's not an idiot; he knows that's what's happening here, that that's why Harry is smiling nervously and shifting from foot to foot and fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. 

He grins. "Let's do it," he says. "What's your number? I can text you my address. We can make a day of it." 

"Awesome," Harry says, and his hands might be a little shaky as he's programming his number into Louis' phone, or Louis might just be imagining things. 

"I'll text you later?" Louis says, double-checking that this isn't some kind of prank. 

"I look forward to it," Harry says. As he's turning away, someone across the quad yells, "Yo, Styles, over here!" so he sends Louis a quick wave and jogs over to his friends.

+

"This is an emergency, Zayn," Louis says. "I need you to clean up your art shit. I don't want him to think I live in filth." 

Zayn, who at this point might be in the running for the Patron Saint of Patience, lets out an almighty sigh before he begins to start collecting his pencils and paper. "What's the deal with this guy, anyway? You said you talked to him, what, twice?" 

"Twice is enough to know that he's cute and funny," Louis retorts. He's sweeping the tiny kitchen floor, which is something that hasn't been done since Mrs. Malik visited them last spring and nearly fainted at the mess. 

"Just seems kind of fast, is all," Zayn comments. 

"I'm not marrying the guy," Louis says, but he knows what Zayn is trying to say. Louis has always been the type to fall hard and fast, and more often than not, it leads to him getting hurt. It's what happened with Liam their freshman year, and then again with Greg their sophomore year, and since it was Zayn who had to mend the pieces of Louis' broken heart every time, Louis figures he has the right to say something. 

"But seriously, it's not a big deal," Louis says. "I'm not expecting anything. Just, like - I'm keeping my options open." 

"I'm glad," Zayn says. "I'll stay at Perrie's for the day, give you guys some space. Don't fuck on any of the surfaces I use, please." 

Louis rolls his eyes and slaps his ass with the handle of the broom as he walks passed. 

He's not _nervous_ exactly, because even if this is some kind of date, it's still eleven o'clock in the morning and Louis refuses to make a big deal out of something that occurs before seven. He'd sent Harry a text with his address last night, and Harry had replied with a simple, _I'll be there around noon? Can't wait!_

So it's _casual_ , Louis reminds himself as he dusts the living room for the second time. _Casual_ , he thinks as he's staring into his closet for a good twenty minutes as he decides what to wear. 

_Casual_ , he internally chants as the buzzer rings and he almost knocks over his can of soda. 

"Hey," Louis says at the door. Harry's hovering there with one of those eco-friendly grocery bags that's filled to the brim with food, even though Louis hadn't asked him to bring any. Bringing food is probably the number one sign of a stellar houseguest, so Louis is already impressed. 

"I've come prepared," Harry announces. "Where should I put all this?" 

"Just over there," Louis says, motioning to the kitchen, which is only a couple of feet from the living room and entryway. Harry starts rummaging through the bag, pulling out an assortment of food - sandwich meats, bread, chips, fruits, and a six-pack of Gatorade. 

"I figured we'll want to stay well-fed and hydrated if we're going to truly marathon," Harry says, a little sheepishly, as he notices Louis' raised eyebrows and smirk. 

"Smart boy," Louis comments lightly. 

Harry is blushing high in his cheekbones, and it's a good look on him. Louis sidles up next to him by the counter and hip-checks him as he snags a Gatorade, because as cute as Harry is when he's embarrassed, he doesn't actually want him to be uncomfortable. 

"This is amazing," he said. "You clearly understand and respect the importance of the journey we're about to embark on." 

"I'm terrified," Harry says. 

+

Four episodes in and they're cuddled up on the couch. Harry had been the first one to make a move: the classic arm-stretch-over-the-couch, which Louis can appreciate even if it lacks originality. Harry's a lot longer than Louis is, and it makes Louis feel small, tucked into his side. It's comfortable. It's nice. 

They both keep up a running commentary that would no doubt annoy anyone else if they were to join in, but it keeps them laughing. Harry doesn't like Jesse at first, but he respects Skyler, which makes Louis pat his leg and say, "You're a good man, Harry Styles." 

Harry looks a little stricken when Louis says his last name like that, and he realizes he'd never actually _told_ him, that he'd just heard it from their professor that first day. He explains as much, and Harry relaxes a bit. "Thought maybe you'd Facebook stalked me," he says jokingly. 

Louis rolls his eyes. 

"So what's your last name, then? Seems unfair for this to go one-way," Harry asks. He's talking over a somewhat pivotal scene in episode five, but Louis isn't in a place to criticize, as he's basically been talking this entire time. 

"Tomlinson," he tells him. "But there's no use Facebook stalking me. I haven't got one." 

"Too cool for Facebook?" Harry teases. 

"You're one to talk about being _too cool_ , Mr. Skinny Jeans and Headscarves," Louis says. "You're a real hipster. I can't believe I'm associating with you." 

"You're a saint," Harry says dreamily, looking down at Louis through his eyelashes, a dopey smile on his face. It's - cute. It's really fucking cute, and Louis is beyond fucked. He was fucked after episode one and he's sure he'll still be fucked by season five.

They just get on really well, and it's comfortable and nice and not stressful, and Louis hasn't had that instant connection with anyone in a long time. Maybe ever, really. He thinks back to his relationships with Liam and Greg, to how he would obsessively try to impress them, feeling the need to prove that he was _enough_ even while they were dating. And it wasn't that they weren't nice guys; they were, and it was mostly Louis' own insecurities that caused the problem. But with Harry, it's different. Harry cracks terrible jokes and makes stupid puns and acts like everything out of Louis' mouth is something of extreme importance. That he's gorgeous is only a bonus, and that he might actually be interested right back seems like too much to be true. But Louis has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever the fuck that phrase is about. 

When both of their stomachs are growling, they get up and make sandwiches together, moving around the kitchen in sync. Harry piles pretty much everything in the fridge on his turkey sandwich - lettuce and tomatoes and pickles and cheese and every single condiment they've got, with a huge side of chips, while Louis sticks with a more classic ham and cheese. 

"You'll lose your figure, eating like that," Louis says. 

Harry chuckles and shrugs. "I'll be alright," he says. 

After they're finishing up their meals, Harry checks his watch and groans. It's still early - not even seven - and Louis tenses, surprised by how much he doesn't want Harry to leave. 

"I should probably head out," Harry says. He doesn't sound happy about it, which Louis is glad about, at least. "Gotta go to bed early. Early morning and all. You know how it is." 

"Uh, yeah, sure," Louis says. He hasn't woken up before ten a.m. on a Saturday in years - but maybe Harry's got a job or something. He doesn't want to pry, though, wants Harry to offer up information about himself voluntarily, so he doesn't press. 

"This was, like, really fun," Harry says. He starts to pull on his sneakers slowly. "I had an amazing time." 

"Well, it _is_ the best show on television," Louis says diplomatically. 

Harry straightens up. "Something to be said for the company, too," he says cheekily. 

"Maybe...we could make this a weekly thing?" Louis suggests timidly, heart picking up in his chest. "I'm free on Fridays, and, y'know. It's important we continue your education. This is what you came to college for." 

Harry's smile turns into a beam. "I'd love that," he says. "But - could we make it Sundays, maybe? I'm not always free on Fridays, because of away - you know. But I almost always have Sundays off." 

"I suppose I could fit you in," Louis says with an air of great importance. The restaurant where he works is never open on Sundays, anyway. 

"Cool," Harry says. "And, hey. Maybe we could go on an actual date sometime? Because, like. Just to be clear: I was totally flirting this whole time, and I think you're really fucking gorgeous." 

He says it quickly and with an air of confidence, but he's also flushed and playing with the frayed end of his sweater frantically. Not one to ever resist taking the piss, Louis gasps dramatically. "Is _that_ what was happening here?"

"Shut up," Harry mumbles. "I rehearsed that line." 

Louis giggles, incredibly manly in all that he does, and kisses the pout right off of Harry's face. 

It's a start. 

+ 

Louis finds out two Saturdays later, at work. He waits tables at a sports bar just off campus, and it's a terrible, terrible job. College students give the worst tips, and they're also notoriously terrible people, so more often than not, Louis leaves work seething with poorly concealed rage. But he's kept the position for two years now, and he's too lazy to find another one, and the bills have to be paid somehow. 

The second game of the football season started at noon, so the place is packed. Louis hates away games, because students always go to bars to watch it, staying for three hours and only ordering a couple of appetizers and beers at most. They're rowdy and loud and there's a new spill every two minutes, and Louis' head already hurts. 

Louis doesn't pay much attention to football. At most, he's a casual observer of the sport; he went to all of the home games his freshman year, before the novelty wore off. He goes to a huge university, a football school, so obviously he can't avoid it entirely, especially during the fall. Last fall, he'd spent a semester in France and had missed the season, and since his school hadn't even made it to a Bowl game, he didn't think of it as much of a loss. 

They seem to have improved over the summer, at least based on the tiny glimpses Louis gets of the game between rushing beers back and forth from the bar. They're up 24-8 in the second quarter, and the energy in the bar is mostly positive, which is good, because happy people tend to leave better tips. Louis' just dropping off a plate of cheesy fries for a table of guys in snapbacks when he hears one of them say, "Honestly wouldn't be surprised if that Styles kid gets the Heisman this year."

Louis doesn't give a fuck about professionalism at the best of times, but right now he doesn't even attempt to act like he wasn't eavesdropping on their conversation. "I'm sorry, um - who are you talking about?" 

"The sophomore? Harry Styles," one of the guys says. "He was our third-string quarterback last season, but he got bumped up to first-string this year because Taze graduated, and Louple is a piece of shit." 

"Right," Louis says, feeling a little lightheaded. He doesn't move from the table, feels too blindsided to move _at all_ , which is probably more than a little strange. But the guy just takes it as an invitation to keep talking, inadvertently overwhelming Louis with information. 

"They're calling him the sophomore sensation," he's informed. "He almost tied the record of most rushing touchdowns during his first game as quarterback. The kid's fucking insane." 

"When was that?" Louis asks hysterically. He wants to sit down and take a drag of this guy's beer, but even he's not _that_ unethical. 

"Last Saturday, against Auburn? How could you not have heard of this, man?" 

Louis doesn't know. He wasn't working last Saturday, and the crowd he hangs around these days don't really watch football, and Harry had never mentioned it. Never mentioned that the day after a seven-hour Breaking Bad marathon, he'd gone and nearly set a NCAA football record. Harry hasn't had time to hang out since last Friday, but he'd seen Louis on Thursday in class and they'd made plans for Sunday. Tomorrow. They've - Christ - they've texted nearly every day, sometimes for hours at a time, and Harry had never even _mentioned_ it. 

He feels betrayed and he doesn't even know if he has a right to be.

He leaves the table eventually, bucks up and realizes he has three hours left of his shift before he can go home and Google the absolute fuck out of Harry Styles, and he can totally do it. He can. 

+

He does, but barely. He spends the rest of his shift trying not to stare too blatantly at the game, but it's hard. In the giant plasma-screen behind the bar, he can see Harry _up close_ , and at one point he looks up and there's a shot of Harry, helmet off, yelling something to a teammate. He looks pissed. He looks hot. Louis thinks, _I kissed that person_. 

They win, 44-14. Harry gets two touchdowns. After the game, they interview him, but Louis doesn't watch because he might actually explode or something equally dramatic. He feels like he's been lied to, and he's known this guy for all of three weeks, but it still stings. He'd spent all of this time contemplating their undeniable connection while Harry hadn't even informed Louis about the biggest part of his life. Had he been _laughing_ at Louis for not knowing? For not piecing it together? 

At home, he tells Zayn, because Zayn can immediately tell something's off. 

"Holy shit, man," Zayn says, and opens his arms up for a hug. Louis falls into him, and together they use Zayn's laptop to stalk. Louis stays cuddled to Zayn's side, like he might need to bury his face in his armpit if he sees something terrible. He's terrified Harry has a girlfriend. Football players have girlfriends; that's a thing. They don't have boyfriends. 

Harry doesn't, though, or at least not one that the Internet can tell him about. He does, however, have a Wikipedia page. He's from Los Angeles, played high school football and was a top prospect for college scouts during his senior year. It was apparently a huge deal when he signed with Louis' school. There are multiple articles about it, and a short, cheesy interview where Harry talks about how lucky he is, how thankful he is to his mom and sister, how excited he is to play. Apparently, him being bumped up to first-string was a huge move, but the coaching staff felt "confident they'd made the right choice." 

It's a lot to take in. 

"Hey, he's got a Twitter," Zayn says, clicking over to it. Louis closes his eyes, not sure what to expect, while Zayn skims it. 

"God, he's cryptic," Zayn says. "There's nothing bad, Louis, you can look. He makes no sense." 

Louis grapples for the laptop and starts obsessively scanning the page. The profile picture is a picture of Harry's back, wearing a "STYLES 17" jersey and skinny jeans. He's actually verified on Twitter, which is insane enough, but he's also got over 30,000 followers. Louis supposes that comes with being a talented, hot football player. His tweets are shit, though - Harry has clearly not mastered the artform of the 140-character tweet. They're all quotes with no source or song lyrics or pictures of dick-related puns. There are some pictures of his teammates, a couple of disturbingly adorable selfies, and an alarming number of pictures of his cat back home. It takes Louis a couple of read-throughs before he realizes that some of these quotes are _his_ , and he doesn't know what the fuck to think about that. 

One tweet - "I would absolutely prefer an episode of breaking bad, a snooze or some corn flakes" - has over a thousand retweets, and yeah, that's definitely something Louis had told Harry in class when he asked if he planned to go to the home game next weekend. 

There are also a few song lyrics about blue eyes, but Louis is absolutely not going to let himself think about that.

"This is insane," Louis says. "What do I do? He's supposed to come over tomorrow." 

Zayn frowns. "Well, what do you want to do?" 

Louis really has to think about that one, because he has no idea. It's not like Harry and he are dating, and he hadn't really _lied_ to him, though it was totally a dick move. But Louis feels like all of his hopes for Harry - that they could be boyfriends, that they could go on real dates, that he could take him home to his mom - have vanished. Harry's a football star, and since there were no articles online that claimed otherwise, he's obviously not out. Maybe he never plans to be. Maybe he isn't even really gay, and Louis is just his experiment. And Louis has been through _that_ rodeo one too many times to be up for it again. 

"I guess I'll text him? Like, 'Oh, hey, good game,' just to see what he'll say," Louis says, chewing on his thumbnail. 

He waits a couple of hours, until it's after seven and he's situated at the table doing Economics homework, and then sends, _Good game today._

After he's sent it, he stares at his phone for a while, confident he made the right move. He's just telling Harry he had a good game, after all, but the period makes it seem laced with well-deserved passive aggression. 

Not two minutes later, his phone starts buzzing with texts. 

_You watched??_

_Fuck fuck I'm so sorry Louis_

_Should have told you sooner_

_I know this makes me look like a huge dick but I swear I was gonna tell you_

Louis doesn't reply for a while, because he likes to think that Harry's off somewhere - probably on a charter bus home surrounded by his teammates - feeling shitty about this. He deserves it, after what Louis had had to go through at work. 

He still hasn't replied by ten o'clock that night, and Harry sends one last text, a single, _Can I still come over tomorrow? I understand if you don't want me to._

Louis lets out a frustrated shriek into the blanket he's wrapped around himself. Because after all this shit, he still really wants to watch Netflix with Harry, fuck it all. 

_Duh. 11 o'clock_ , is all he sends back. 

+

The next morning, Harry is on his doorstep at 10:50 with a bag of food and a pot of lilacs that he clearly snagged at the nearest grocery store. He looks nothing like a star football player, dressed in his usual skinny jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt.

"These are a peace offering," he says, presenting the flowers to Louis dramatically. "Read the card, please." 

There's a tiny card sticking out of the flowers, and sprawled on it in messy, smudged handwriting is, "Sorry I LIE-lac'd to you!" 

"Oh my god," Louis says, unable to fight the shocked burst of laughter that leaves his mouth. "What the fuck? That doesn't make any sense." 

Harry looks actually offended at this. He frowns deeply. "Do you not get it? Because they're lilacs - "

"Stop talking," Louis says sternly. Harry shuts right up at that, and follows Louis into the kitchen like a lost puppy. 

"But seriously, Louis, I'm like...so sorry," he continues, quicker than he's ever spoken in Louis' presence. "I should've told you. I just. I thought you knew, at first? And then when it was obvious you didn't, it felt like it was too late, and I didn't know how to say it without being all weird." 

"Maybe when I asked you if you could hang out on Friday night, you could have said, 'Can't, got to go to Tennessee for a football game,'" Louis suggests, but there's not a lot of bite in his tone. He places the lilacs on the windowsill over the sink. 

"I know," Harry says. "Fuck, I know. But I was scared you weren't gonna want to keep seeing me, if you knew. So I was just like - delaying the inevitable, I guess." 

Louis wants to say, _But we can't keep seeing each other._

He doesn't. 

"You look really tired," he observes instead. It's true; Harry's got dark circles under his eyes, and his hair looks limp under the beanie he's got on. 

"We got in really late last night," Harry shrugs. "Or this morning, I guess." 

"Christ," Louis says. "You didn't have to come. You could've just told me you were too tired." 

"No, I - I wanted to come. I've been looking forward to it all week," Harry says. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon working their way through season two, eating junk food, and talking. Harry keeps routinely apologizing, to the point where Louis eventually feels obligated to shove his shoulder and say, "You're forgiven. Relax." 

It's nice, the way it always is with Harry. Louis thinks that even if things don't work out the way he'd hoped, they could at least be friends. Harry would make a great friend, he's sure. 

They've both given up the pretense of actually paying attention to the show, though Louis will normally force himself to shut up when an important scene comes on. Harry eventually puts his arm around Louis, same as before, only this time Louis squirms out of his hold with a sheepish smile. 

"Oh," Harry says, immediately retracting his arm. "Um. Sorry?" 

"It's fine," Louis says quickly. "Would you like something to drink?" 

"I'm good." 

Louis rushes into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of wine, downing it in a couple of large gulps. He hopes it will help clear his head, but more than likely it will just give him a headache. 

When he comes back, Harry is twiddling with his thumbs, staring down at his lap. 

"You could at least _pretend_ to watch," Louis says lightly. Harry looks up at him and smiles. 

"Not as fun when you're not keeping a commentary," he says. 

Louis, made brave from the glass of wine and adrenaline, pauses the television and sits on the couch criss-cross next to Harry. Harry looks bemused, but he assumes the same position, so that they're facing each other. 

"Look, Harry," he begins. "I want to honest with you, because I promised myself after my last relationship I'd be more open." 

"Okay," Harry says expectantly. He's sitting patiently, though, not taking his eyes off Louis. 

"I - " Louis breaks off. It's not as easy to say as he thought it would be. "My last two relationships ended kind of shitty. Like, both of the guys, they ended up with girls? Only a couple of weeks after we'd broken up? And I don't really want to go through that again, so." 

He doesn't tell Harry how both Liam and Greg had been kind about it, but essentially told him they weren't into guys in "that way" after several months of dating Louis. And how useless it had made Louis feel, like a dirty pit stop on the way to heterosexual happiness. 

He's not dumb - he knows he just got unlucky that it happened back to back, first Liam and then Greg only a couple of months later. He knows it probably happens to a lot of guys. He knows that he can't actually _blame_ Liam or Greg for their own sexual preferences. But none of that makes it all hurt any less. 

"I'm not - " Harry starts. He runs a hand through his hair, and his beanie falls off his curls. "I'm definitely gay. One hundred percent. If that's what you're worrying about." 

_And one hundred percent in the closet_ , Louis thinks. 

"You're great," Louis concedes. "But I'm not so good at casual hook-ups, and I don't think I can really do the whole closet thing. So maybe we should just - agree to be friends?" 

Harry frowns so deeply he starts to resemble a frog. "I don't want that," he says, and then is quick to add, "I mean, of course I want to be your friend, too. But I - I like you. A lot. And I know it's not ideal, like with the football, and the hiding, but - couldn't we just try? And see what happens?" 

And Louis has never been all that great at saying no to sweet boys.

+

They're seeing each other for a month when Harry officially asks Louis to be his boyfriend. They're making out on Louis' bed while one of Harry's outrageously hipster mix tapes plays in the background, and Harry's got one hand tangled in Louis' hair and another running up and down his side. When he asks, it's more of a groan than a question, just a sharp, "Let's be exclusive" against Louis' lips. 

Louis pulls back, making Harry groan even more and try to pull him back down by his side. "What?" Louis demands. 

Harry seems to realize he's not going to get any until he explains, so he grumbles and sits up beside Louis. He takes one of Louis' smaller hands in his gigantic ones and starts playing with his fingers. 

"I want to call you my boyfriend," he says finally. "Even if it's just to Zayn and Perrie and in my head." 

Louis rolls his eyes. "So romantic." 

"It could be more romantic if you say yes," Harry says, and ridiculous idiot that he is, he actually looks nervous. 

Louis tackles him back into the mattress in reply, and gives him an exceptional blowjob that he hopes counts as his answer. 

+

It's sort of incredible, how infrequently their lives intersect in the following months. 

Harry's near-constantly busy, between classes and practice and games. Louis is taking extra shifts at the restaurant on top of his nineteen credit hours, so he doesn't exactly have a wealth of free time, either. The only times they are guaranteed to see each other is at class on Thursdays and on Sundays (Harry refuses to miss Sundays, even after they've finished Breaking Bad, even if there's an away game the night before and he doesn't show up until nine p.m.) Sometimes, Harry will drop by the apartment after practice and pass out on Louis' bed while they work on homework together. Occasionally they'll have a free period during the same block, and they'll grab coffee or lunch together, but Louis doesn't really like those times. As much as he wishes he could be out publicly with Harry, he feels even worse when he's standing right by his side and can't hold his hand. Plus, there are always people coming up to Harry, high-fiving him and talking about the game on Saturday, and Louis feels useless and awkward by his side.

Led by Harry, the football team goes undefeated into November. There's buzz surrounding him from all sides - ESPN named him the College Athlete of the Month in October and there's already talk of him possibly entering the draft at the end of the year. Harry's coy about it all publicly, refusing to discuss any of it in interviews, insisting he wants to "focus on this season right now" before he makes any major decisions. 

But in private, Harry confides in Louis that he's scared. He doesn't feel ready to enter the draft but he's worried he's peaked in college; that if he stays, he'll have a worse season and blow his chances at a high draft pick. Louis never knows what to say to make him feel better during those talks, so he has to settle with just holding Harry and letting him know that he's there. 

Meanwhile, Louis' life goes on as it always has. He's focusing on his classes more than ever, because he's started seriously looking into grad school and he needs to keep his GPA up. He hangs out with Zayn and occasionally goes to some of his artsy graphic design parties, but mostly he just hangs around the flat waiting for Harry to text or call or come over.

He doesn't go to the games, partly because he usually has to work during them, but mostly because he's secretly worried he'll be a bad luck charm. It would be just his luck that they'd lose the first game he ever goes to. 

Being secretive isn't quite as terrible as Louis expected, if only because Harry is an extremely attentive boyfriend. He does his best to keep up with Louis' life, no matter how tired or distracted he is. Once, Louis had told him he had a huge exam in Macroeconomics that he was worried about, and the morning of the exam, Harry had a dozen donuts delivered to his door. There was a note attached that said, "DONUT worry, you'll do great!" 

If Louis got a little weepy over a chocolate-covered glazed donut with sprinkles, no one has to know about it. 

+

They have sex for the first time in the middle of November, the day before Louis leaves for Thanksgiving Break. Harry's staying at school for the holiday, has practice all through the week and a game on Thanksgiving day, and he's been mopey about Louis leaving all week. 

"Will you forget about me while you're away?" he asks dramatically, throwing himself on top of Louis on the bed. 

"You're suffocating me," Louis says, swatting him away. But he's smiling.

They've been dating for two months now, and the only reason they haven't had sex yet is lack of time. But now they've got the afternoon and the apartment to themselves, and it seems like a waste not to take advantage of it. 

"Do you wanna?" Louis asks breathlessly as they're making out on the couch. Harry's already got his hand down his pants, panting and flushed, his erection digging into Louis' thigh. 

Harry's eyes widen. "Are you serious?" 

Louis knows that Harry's never had sex with a guy before. His experience with guys before Louis was limited to a mutual handjob at a gay bar the summer before he left for school, which he described as "enlightening." He'd had sex with two girls during his senior year of high school, but it hadn't felt right, and since then he'd been tragically celibate. 

Louis, seemingly for the first time, has the upper hand. He has tons of experience with guys - there was Lucas in high school, Liam and Greg, the several men he slept with during his study abroad in France, and his occasional random hook-up at school. 

"Yeah, yeah, want to," Louis says, pulling Harry up from the couch before sprinting to his bedroom, Harry hot on his heels. When he turns around, Harry's right there, tackling him down onto the bed and crawling on top of him. 

"You're so beautiful," Harry breathes, unbuttoning Louis' jeans with shaky fingers. Once he manages to get the button undone, he shucks them down to his ankles and peels them all the way off. Louis tries to return the favor, but Harry's jeans are too tight to be taken off by anyone but him, so he sits up against the headboard and watches.

They start kissing again, Harry taking the lead, a firm hand resting on the bottom of Louis' spine. His hands are big enough that one of his palm's can cup a full ass cheek, and his fingers are long enough that he can still manage to start spreading Louis' ass and playing with the tight ring of muscle there. 

It's not the first time he's fingered Louis; by now they've figured out that it's one of Harry's favorite hobbies. Sometimes, when they're both too sleepy to exchange mutual blowjobs, Harry will pull Louis into his arms and lazily work his fingers in until Louis' is a writhing, whimpering mess, biting down on Harry's shoulder and begging to come. It never takes Harry long to come after that - a few strokes at most - since he gets so worked up just doing that to Louis.

Louis has never had a boyfriend who focuses as much on foreplay as Harry. He's had a lot of sex, and most of it was fairly good, but sex with Harry is like a whole new dimension. It's like the younger boy is focused entirely on Louis' pleasure and thinks of his own as an afterthought. 

"You'll tell me if I hurt you?" Harry asks, voice unexpectedly serious as he lifts Louis' chin up to meet his eyes. 

Louis nods and wriggles out of his grasp to get lube and a condom from his bedside drawer. He crawls back over to the bed lithely, shaking the condom teasingly in front of Harry's face, and says, "May I do the honors?" 

It's hot, the way Harry leans back on his headboard with his arms behind his head and watches Louis through lidded eyes. Louis knows he's good at the seduction part of things, so he keeps eye contact even as he works his way down Harry's body and starts to slide on the condom with his mouth. 

"I'm going to die here," Harry announces, sounding like he's come to terms with this fate, and it'd be a joke if his voice wasn't so strained. 

Louis laughs, upsetting his balance and making him gag on Harry's dick. He lifts his mouth off and starts spluttering out a cough, holding his chest like he's just swallowed a mouthful of food down the wrong tube. 

"Sexy," Harry says. He's laughing breathlessly, rubbing at Louis' back while he continues to cough. 

"Fuck, don't make me laugh while your dick is in my mouth," Louis finally gets out. His voice sounds pretty wrecked considering he'd had Harry's dick in his mouth for about fifteen seconds. 

"That's so sweet," Harry says. He grins brightly. "Remind me to put that on your Valentine's card. 'You make me laugh even with a dick in my mouth.'" 

The way he says that, so sure and obvious, like _of course_ they'll still be together in February, makes Louis' heart flutter in his chest a bit. He doesn't know when exactly Harry became such a huge part of his life, or how they've managed to make it work so well, but he thinks maybe it's because they're meant to be together. 

He hates to be thinking of something as cheesy as soul mates when he's about to have a dick up his ass, though, so he stops thinking entirely when Harry lubes up two fingers and works them inside. 

Harry is a perfectionist in all that he does, so it doesn't surprise Louis that he's phenomenal in bed. He's worked three fingers inside Louis relatively painlessly, which is good, because he's got a monster dick. He alternates between crooking his fingers just _so_ and scissoring them relentlessly, seeming to revel in the hiccups of pleasure he's drawing out of Louis.

"D'you think you're ready?" he asks eventually. His voice breaks the silence that had been filled with only Louis' whimpers and stifled moans before. 

He _must_ know that Louis is, because Louis' been squirming around and trying to force his fingers deeper for _ages_ , so Harry makes quick work of slicking up his cock. He turns Louis over so that he's on his back, pulling his legs up so they're splayed on either side of his waist. 

"God," is all Harry says before he starts inching his way inside, tortuously slowly at first, until Louis lifts up his hips just enough to take him fully inside. 

"Oh _fuck_ ," Harry whimpers, both hands falling so that they're flat on the bed beside Louis' head. He sounds like he might _cry_ , which is what Louis is considering doing if he doesn't start moving. 

Harry's dick is huge, quite possibly the biggest Louis has ever had, and for a couple of moments the stretch is almost unbearable. Until Harry gets a hold of himself and starts moving his hips in a figure-eight motion that has Louis' head falling back into the pillows while he tries not to pass out. 

There's something to be said for athletic endurance, because once Harry gets going, it's not long before he's snapping his hips and pulling Louis up by the waist to meet his unrelenting thrusts. He's strong enough that he can hold Louis up without any real effort, even though Louis feels like a bit of a dead weight. Harry's breaths are coming in sharp pants, and there's a flush all the way down to his stomach. Best of all, though, is the way he keeps alternating his gaze from Louis' face to the place where they're connected like it's some kind of miracle. 

It's a while before Harry finds his prostate, but when he does, Louis lets out a cry that he will never admit to, and Harry pauses for a moment before going double-time, aiming for that spot every time. He hits it on nearly every thrust, until Louis' whole body tightens with pleasure, until he doesn't even have the energy to stroke his cock anymore, and instead moves his hands to grip Harry's forearms. 

"Fuck - I can't hold - " Harry grunts, his movements becoming uneven and his hips practically convulsing. He comes so suddenly it takes them both by surprise; he collapses on top of Louis while wet heat fills the condom and they both try to catch their breath. 

It takes a bit before Harry stops gasping, but when he does, his first move is to start stroking Louis' aching dick while he carefully pulls his own now-limp dick out of Louis' ass. It snags a bit and Louis hisses at the burn, but Harry doesn't even take the time to discard the condom, instead focusing solely on getting Louis off. He doesn't have to do much; Louis is close enough that all it takes is a couple of tugs and his thumb circling the sensitive head before he's groaning out an orgasm. The aftershocks last for a long time, and he feels it _everywhere_ , like he's just received a full-body massage after running a marathon. 

Harry holds him through it until his breaths become regular, and then he jogs into the bathroom and comes back with a warm towel. He wipes the come off of Louis' stomach and runs it over his aching ass, even though he'd come inside the condom. 

"That was embarrassing," he says after a while, lying back beside Louis and knocking their foreheads together gently. 

Louis, who had been relaxing in a way he can only after a truly good dicking, pops an eyelid open. "What?" 

"I came in, like, three minutes," Harry says guiltily. _Guiltily_. "You didn't even come." 

"Uh," Louis says. "Yeah I did?"

"I mean _first_ ," Harry says. He sounds repentant, like a kid confessing a sin in church, which is a comparison Louis can only justify making because he's just had his brains fucked out. 

Louis turns over so that they're more face-to-face, and pinches Harry's side. "It's not a competition, Haz," he says. "That was great. I came really fast, too, in case you didn't notice." 

Harry lights up at the praise. "You really thought so? I almost came, like, as soon as I got in." 

Louis giggles, because of course Harry would be the kind of guy who wants a play-by-play moments after they'd just finished fucking. Louis considers mocking him for this, making up a highlight reel and rating his skills on a point-scale, but he's too exhausted. 

"I'm so glad I met you," he says instead.

Harry brushes a gentle kiss over both of his cheekbones, and even though Louis' eyes are closed, he can feel his smile. "You make me happier than I've ever been before," Harry says quietly. 

+

Thanksgiving is one of Louis' favorite holidays, because any combination of hanging out with his little sisters and stuffing his face full of food is generally something he's on board with. He misses them like crazy when he's away, even though he texts with Lottie and Fizzy constantly, and receives daily Snapchats from the twins. Going away to school has brought them closer, if only because he no longer wants to strangle them on a daily basis now that they're hundreds of miles away. 

His mother starts doting on him the second he's through the door, taking his duffel bag and insisting he needs a haircut. "You're too thin," she announces. "I've just made cookies. You'll have to eat them all." 

The girls give him a suffocating group hug at the door, and then they all go into the kitchen to eat cookies and catch up. Lottie's in high school now, Fizzy's finishing up middle school, and the twins are still in fourth grade. There's tons of news, like always. Lottie's been asked to prom by a senior boy - Louis _strongly_ objects to this, though their mother insists it's all right - and Fizzy's been selected for an advanced placement study program. The twins went to the zoo for a school trip and insist on showing Louis every single picture they took on their iPods, even though he'd seen them all before. 

"What have you been up to, Lou?" their mother asks, smiling as he's bombarded with stories from all angles. 

"Oh, you know, the usual stuff," he says. "Senior year's pretty boring." 

"Any boys?" Lottie asks, wiggling her eyebrows from across the table. 

"Absolutely not. Boys are terrible," Louis declares. He looks around the table, making stern eye contact with each of them. "You should all take note of that." 

He loves hanging out with his girls. It's the only part of college that he actively dislikes - missing out on them growing up. But he figures it had always been inevitable, with how much older he was, that he wouldn't be able to be there _forever_. 

It's hard to keep something as big as a new boyfriend from them, but he and Harry have never actually discussed telling their families, and Louis doesn't know how to say, _I'm in a relationship but nobody's allowed to know about it._

His mother would probably tell him to get the hell out of that relationship, and that makes Louis feels queasy, because his mother's opinion has always mattered most. 

The week goes by fairly quickly. He picks up the girls from school most days, and takes them out to get ice cream or go shopping so that he can solidify his role as the awesome big brother. It's not like he's got much else to do - he only has to study for a few exams and compulsively text his boyfriend. 

Harry appears to be going crazy at school, with nothing to distract him from practice. 

_Campus is scarily empty and I miss youuuuu :(_ , he sends on Monday morning.

 _Coach made us do so many suicides I think my legs are going to fall off and I'm sitting in bed wondering what part of you I miss most. I think your butt wins :(_ , he sends Tuesday afternoon. 

_BABY COME BACK_ , he sends Wednesday evening.

Their conversations are light and fun and Louis has a near-permanent smile on his face. It gets so bad that Lottie catches on, and then she spends the rest of the week hounding him for information on who he's texting. 

_Am desperate plz send nudes_ , Harry sends Thursday before nine o'clock. 

_It's Thanksgiving morning you perv have some class_ , Louis sends back. 

_I am thankful for your butt. Is that so wrong?_

_I'm watching the parade with my family!!!_

_Bet you look really cute :( If won't send a nude pic I'll settle for a mirror selfie I GUESS._

Louis _does_ look cute, as a matter of fact. He's wearing one of Harry's big sweaters (thankfully no one is his family noticed) and his fringe is soft and feathery. He takes the mirror picture in the bathroom, pouting in what he hopes is an adorable way, and sends it with an _I MISS YOU._

Harry's reply is instanteous. _My sweater :D :D Am jerking off now!_

Louis rolls his eyes and goes back to join his family on the couch. 

+

Louis' mom has been dating Dan for a while now, and while he seems like a great guy, he approaches Louis like he would a wild animal, afraid that if he makes the wrong move, he'll pounce. 

Dan clearly wants his approval, as the man of the house, which makes Louis feel very cocky and important. He tries not to be overly friendly to the guy - he is dating his _mom_ , after all - but it's hard, because Dan's so genuinely nice, and treats the girls like royalty and his mom like a queen. 

They don't have much to talk about, though, so when they're sitting next to each other at Thanksgiving dinner, the conversation falls, as usual, to sports. 

"I think you guys have a decent shot at the Championships this year," Dan says as he cuts into the turkey roast. He passes a plate down to Fizzy and then turns to Louis and asks, "What do you think of that Styles kid? He's pretty incredible, from what I've seen." 

_Well, I am fucking him_ , Louis thinks but doesn't say. 

"Yeah, he's pretty great," Louis says instead.

It's always weird to hear about Harry from another perspective, because Louis is so isolated from that part of his life. It makes him feel strange, because Harry is probably the biggest part of Louis' life at the moment, but Harry has so much more going on. He's nationally famous and successful and he's probably going to be a _professional athlete_ , and if Louis lets him think about that for too long, he starts to feel like he's suffocating. 

After lunch, they all settle in for the game, which Louis is not looking forward to at all. He's sure that everything he's feeling will show on his face, like his mother will take one look at him and realize, _He's fucking the quarterback._

He thinks about the text he sent Harry a few hours ago, a simple, _Good luck today babe. Score a hundred touchdowns for me!_ It had gone unanswered, as they normally do right before games. Harry had once told him that he needs to get completely in the mindset for the game, that he tries to block everything out as much as he can and listen to his music until he has to get ready. 

"So I shouldn't text you before the games?" Louis had asked. 

"No," Harry had replied hurriedly. "No, don't stop that. I like - I like reading them." 

Now, Louis's watching as a sportscaster analyzes the game - a "centuries long rivalry" between "two well-matched teams" - and feels nervous. It might just be because he's never sat down and watched a full game, but for the first time his situation seems actually _surreal_ , and it's almost impossible to reconcile the Harry that's being discussed on national television with the Harry who had just last night sent him a Snapchat of a bowl of bananas with a caption, _This is how I feel about you_ , which didn't really make sense but was a sweet attempt. 

"Your quarterback is _so_ hot," Lottie announces, plopping down on the floor in front of him. "My friend Anna is completely obsessed with him. She printed out a picture of him and hung it above her bed." 

Louis cracks open his can of beer. 

It's a close game right from the start, and from what Louis can understand (both from his limited knowledge of the game and Dan's chanting) the defense is playing like crap. Harry throws a touchdown in the first quarter, but the other team evens up the score immediately. It goes on like that for ages - by halftime, it's 17-21 in favor of the other team. When a camera cuts to Harry on the sidelines, he's chewing on his mouth guard and looks frustrated as all hell. He's saying something to the running back, Niall Horan, who Louis knows is his best friend on the team even though he's never met him. 

Louis thinks he's doing a pretty good job of passively watching the game until the third quarter, when Harry gets tackled by a huge linebacker. Louis actually gasps and reaches out to hold on to something. No one was blocking him, and Harry goes down hard, headfirst. It turns into a huge pile-up of players but Louis' eyes are only for Harry, at the bottom of the pile. He knows Harry was wearing a helmet, _knows_ he's been tackled before, but it's different, seeing it in real-time and not knowing when or how he's going to get up. 

Harry's slow about it, obviously in pain. But he's not limping or favoring either side, and when the team's wide receiver asks him something, he shakes his head sharply. He's staying in on the play. 

Louis doesn't realize he's been gripping his mother's hand.

She's looking at him quizzically and he just shrugs her off. 

They win the game, and it's the first time Louis ever wonders how much longer he can do this. 

+

When he comes back from Thanksgiving break, Harry is already in his apartment, let in by Zayn. He's curled up in Louis' bed when Louis walks in, hugging a pillow and fast asleep. 

Louis jumps on the bed. 

Harry wakes with a start, spluttering a bit before grinning and pulling Louis down to join him. "Sorry, I'm fucking beat," he says. "Didn't mean to fall asleep." 

"Mmm, it's okay," Louis hums, tracing a nonsensical pattern on Harry's chest. 

"Missed you," Harry says. He tugs Louis closer to him by the waist and presses a kiss firmly to his neck. 

"Yeah," Louis says. "Missed you, too." 

+

Their first huge, blowout fight happens on a Saturday. It's a by-week for the team, but Louis hadn't known that early enough to call off work, which makes Harry whine dramatically. "But we could hang out for _the whole day_ ," he says. 

"Sorry, babe," Louis says. "Hand me my polo?" 

Harry groans and reaches for it where it's lying on the ground beside the bed. He'd spent the night last night - something that's quickly becoming commonplace - and he's still in nothing but his briefs, despite the fact that it's nearing noon. 

"I get off at seven," Louis says. "But I'm going to a party at Perrie's at eight, so I'm just going to come back to change." 

Since Thanksgiving, Louis has been making more of an effort to socialize with people outside of Harry, because he knows it's not exactly healthy to ditch all of his friends for a guy who hasn't even _told_ his own friends that he's in a relationship. He doesn't blame Harry, but. It's still what's happening. 

"What will I do?" Harry asks, his eyes widening. 

"Hang out with some of your own friends, my darling," Louis coos, leaning down to press a kiss to his pouty lips. "Or don't you have any of those?" 

Harry huffs. "I'd just rather spend time with you." 

"Well," Louis says. 

They leave it at that, deciding Louis will text Harry when he's on his way back from Perrie's so they can at least spend the night together. It's probably not healthy, but it makes Louis feel a little good, to finally be the one with plans. He feels like he works his whole schedule around Harry's life; surely it's fair for Harry to occasionally have to adjust his own schedule for Louis. 

At the end of his shift, his boss asks if he can cover a late shift, because two waiters cancelled and they're swamped. Louis is about to tell him that he's already made plans, but then he offers to pay him double-time, and Louis isn't exactly in a financial state to refuse such an offer. He sends off a quick text to Perrie apologizing for missing her party and goes back to fetch a round of drinks. 

He doesn't think much of it until a group of huge guys walk in the door around nine o'clock, rowdy and loud, acting like they own the place. At first, he's only annoyed because he thinks they're going to be a pain in the ass to wait on, but then his coworker, Eleanor, bumps his hip with her own and mouths excitedly, _Football players_.

Louis' heart is in his throat as he scans the group of guys, and of course, Harry's there, sidled up beside Niall Horan and grinning. He looks more like a football player than Louis' ever seen him in person. Louis had always wondered if the other players treated Harry oddly, because he's so obviously not a typical jock, but he seems to fit right in, exchanging jokes and high-fiving with the best of them. 

Of course they all sit at a table on Louis' side. 

"El," Louis says urgently, pulling her aside discreetly by the bar. "Could you take that table?" 

Eleanor frowns. "I can help, Lou, but I can't handle it by myself. My side's full." 

Louis allows himself thirty seconds to hyperventilate by the soda machine before straightening his back and making his way to the table. He's a lot of things, but he's not a coward, and he's not afraid of a bunch of football players, one of whom is his own _boyfriend_. 

As Louis approaches the table, Harry looks up and goes pale, and Louis thinks, _Oh._

He doesn't know what he'd been expecting, but it's not for Harry to look so absolutely stricken, to turn his face into a menu and clear his throat and _ignore_ Louis. Surely they're - he could've just said they were _friends_. Could've said he knew Louis from class. He wouldn't have even been _lying_. 

Louis clears his throat, too, smiles and says, "I'm Louis and I'll be your server tonight. Can I get you all something to drink?" 

He takes their orders efficiently - mostly beers, a couple of sodas, and a meek "water, please" from Harry - before nodding and hurrying away. He's not going to cry at work, because he's better than that. He's in a relationship with someone who is ashamed to be seen with him in public, who won't introduce him to his friends, who he can't tell his own mother about, but he is _better_ than that. 

He watches the table throughout the night - can't help it, really, considering it's his duty to serve them - and the color never returns to Harry's face. He's sitting hunched over, looking strained and not making much conversation. A group of girls - cheerleaders, maybe - join them later on, and one in particular seems to have her sights set on Harry. For his part, Harry is smiling awkwardly and politely angling his body away from hers, but Louis still sees red. That's who Harry should be with, anyway - a pretty girl who can sit next to him at dinner and laugh with all of his friends. 

It's Liam and Greg all over, it's feeling equal parts helpless and worthless, it's everything Louis promised he'd never get himself into again.

And it's _Harry_ , which makes it all about a thousand times worse. 

The table clears out before his shift is over, Harry lingering like he wants to say something to Louis, but Louis begs Eleanor to pick up the receipts so desperately that she actually looks stricken and agrees. 

Eventually, Harry leaves and Louis goes into the bathroom to have a quick sob. 

+

He doesn't text Harry to come over after his shift. Obviously. He's planning to go home, turn off his phone, maybe take a relaxing bubble bath, and sleep for the next twelve hours. 

Naturally, Harry is waiting for him outside of his apartment, making all of his nice plans impossible. He's sitting on the dirty floor, dejected, even though he _knows_ there's a key on top of the door, because he's constantly telling Louis that it's "not safe" to leave there. 

"I am so sorry," are the first words out of his mouth when Louis makes it to the top of the stairs. 

"Okay," Louis says evenly, pulling out his keys. He doesn't want to have this discussion now because he knows he'll cry, and that'll only make him feel more pathetic and weak. 

"I don't even - like - I don't know how I can make this right," Harry says. His eyes are red-rimmed like he's already been crying, and he's fumbling with the beanie in his hands nervously. 

"You can't," Louis says. "Not tonight. Go home, Haz. We can talk about this later." 

"Please don't," Harry bursts out, begs, when Louis opens the door and makes to go inside. "I can't - I won't be able to sleep." 

_Well join the club,_ Louis thinks, and for once he does say it out loud. Viciously, with such venom in his tone that Harry looks like he's been sacked in the gut. 

"Please," Harry says quietly. "I'll - can we just talk now, and then if you tell me to go, I'll go, I swear I will."

Louis doesn't answer, but he lets him inside, and Harry releases a shuddery breath. Zayn's gone - presumably spending the night at Perrie's after the party - but Louis doesn't bother to turn any of the lights on, just makes a beeline for his bedroom. Harry follows timidly, like he's a cat that's been spooked. 

"I really want to sleep, Haz," Louis says, turning on the lamplight so that the whole room is cast with an orange-y hue. "Could we make this fast?" 

He sits down on the edge of his bed, but Harry doesn't sit, just hovers by the door biting one of his fingernails. 

"I didn't think you'd be there tonight," Harry blurts out suddenly. 

"I didn't think I would, either. I covered a late shift," Louis says. He refuses to be the bad guy here; he hadn't lied to Harry. 

"I just - some of the guys were going out, and I figured, why not, right? Because I thought you were at Perrie's, and I just wanted something to occupy myself before I came over, and - "

"I don't really care why you were there," Louis interrupts. 

"What can I say?" Harry pleads. "What can I say to make it better?" 

Louis sees red at that, because it's not _fair_ that Harry gets to say something to make it all better. Louis sits around feeling like a dirty secret for months and all Harry has to say is "sorry" to make it all better? None of it's _fair_. 

"You can't say anything!" he snaps. "You can't say anything, because we can't even fight, because we're not even a real couple! How can we break up when we're not even together?" 

The color drains from Harry's face, maybe even quicker than it had at the restaurant. "What are you saying?" he whispers. 

"I'm saying that I'm not your boyfriend, I'm your secret," Louis cries out desperately. He feels a hot tear slide down his cheek and brushes it off angrily. "What kind of relationship is this? We hide out in my apartment and no one knows except for Zayn and Perrie and you can't even _look_ at me when your friends are around!" 

"I - " Harry begins, but Louis cuts him off. 

"It's been months!" he says. "We've been together for months and I can't even tell my mom that I'm dating someone. And when will it stop? Am I _ever_ going to be able to tell her? Or anyone?" 

Harry looks desperate. He's chewing his lip off and tears are forming in his eyes. As Louis watches, a few fall out and slide down to his chin. 

"I don't know what to say," Harry says. "I can't - you know that it's not that easy - "

"Relationships aren't supposed to be _easy_!" Louis says. 

"That isn't fair," Harry says after a pause. "You can't just ask me to come out! You know what that would mean, and it's not - it's not even an option right now! This is my _whole life_!" 

"Well it's _mine too_!" Louis cries. 

Both of them just sort of collapse at the same time, Harry falling to his knees in front of Louis' bed and wrapping his arms around his torso in a grip that hurts. They're both crying, and everything is terrible, but holding each other makes it slightly less terrible, somehow. Even through his haze of anger and indignation, Louis knows that breaking up with Harry would never be that simple - that he's in love with him, even if he's never said it out loud or let himself think about it for too long. He doesn't know what he's going to do. None of the options look good. 

But right now, Harry's whispering _I'm so sorry's_ into Louis' chest and Louis is holding him in something like forgiveness. They're not okay, but they both fall in to bed, too exhausted to fight anymore. 

"I'm not asking you to come out," Louis says eventually, into the darkness of his room. They've turned the lights out and gotten under the covers, and he knows Harry's not asleep because his breathing hasn't evened out and his grip on Louis' waist hasn't slackened. "I'm just saying I don't know how much longer I can do this." 

+

Things are understandably tense between them in the week that follows their fight. They don't talk about it, because Harry's got a big game coming up and Louis' got exams to study for, but it lingers over their time together like a storm cloud. Louis is prickly and Harry is sad, and for all that they yelled and cried, nothing actually changed. 

Harry still comes over every night, but they don't text as much, don't keep updated on each other's lives nearly as much as they had only a week ago. Louis has a cry on Zayn's shoulder and tries to forget about it, but something's got to give. 

On Friday, he's studying at the main campus dining hall with Nick, his mentor for his political science research course. Nick's a lot older than him, a poli sci grad student, and he's funny and sharp in a way that makes Louis want to impress him. He's a lot like Harry in some ways - he dresses like a hipster, likes weirdo music, and has a magnetic personality. 

He also totally has a crush on Louis.

Or maybe not a crush - Nick's probably too cool for a crush - but he's definitely interested. Louis would be into Nick if he were single, he thinks, and he doesn't even feel bad when he flirts a little bit as they study. It's nothing major - just smiling and laughing at his jokes and maybe reaching out and touching his arm a couple of times. It's not like it's _cheating_ , and besides, Louis thinks vengefully, _How can you cheat on somebody you're barely in a relationship with?_

Nick and Louis stay at the dining hall through lunch and into dinner, taking advantage of a free meal. If Louis were thinking straight, he would probably remember that the football team always comes to the main dining hall the day before a home game. The staff prepares a huge pasta dinner, and they all pig out and talk strategy. Harry's mentioned it several times, since he usually goes to Louis' place right after. 

But in his defense, he and Nick are actually immersed in work for class, poring over some statistics on Nick's laptop and discussing comparative longitudinal survey datasets, which Louis knows nothing about. Nick is laughing at his lack of knowledge when a huge ruckus bursts through the doors. Both he and Nick snap their head up in the direction of the sound, and then all Louis can really register is _Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

"Ah, the jocks have arrived," Nick says ruefully. "It's like high school all over again." 

Louis cracks a tight smile. He's hoping that if he shrinks into their booth far enough, Harry will miss him, but it's pointless, because Nick had chosen a booth that's directly next to the back room, where the athletes eat. 

He knows the exact moment Harry spots him, because he actually says "Lou?" out loud, like a reflex. 

Funny how that's all Louis had wanted Harry to say at the restaurant, but now he'd prefer if he ignored him entirely. 

Nick raises his eyebrows. "Are you friends with Our Holy Quarterback?" he asks, a little mocking and a lot curious. 

Before he gets a chance to reply, Harry is walking over to their table with a quizzical frown. "Hey, Lou," he says, ignoring Nick entirely. 

It's pretty rude. Almost as rude as Louis saying, "Hey, Harry. Don't let me keep you." 

Harry widens his eyes and opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then someone - a linebacker, maybe; Louis wouldn't know - calls his name from the back room and he leaves with a small, confused wave. Of course he does. 

"That was odd," Nick observes shrewdly. 

"We have a class together." Louis shrugs.

A couple of seconds later, his phone goes off in his pocket, and he's dumb enough to check it even though he knows exactly who it's from. 

_Hey who's that guy??_

It's just casual enough not to be demanding, but Louis still feels his skin prickle. Harry's jealous, and while usually that would make Louis feel special, right now it just pisses him off. How can Harry be jealous, when he won't even acknowledge that they're together? 

He doesn't reply to the text and continues talking to Nick. He's not flirting, but he's being friendly, because what the hell - Nick is his friend. He doesn't know if Harry can see them from where he's sitting in the backroom - it's an enclave, so there are no doors - and he doesn't _want_ to know. He's allowed to have friends without feeling like shit.

Eventually, Nick has to go, claiming he promised a friend he'd stop by the school's theater to watch a production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. 

"You could maybe come?" Nick suggests casually, his arm brushing Louis' as they pack up their stuff. "I'm sure you'll think it's unbearably hipster, but you might have more fun than you think." 

Louis smiles but says no, because the last thing he wants to do is lead Nick on. He's too nice to be caught in the crosshairs of one of the most dysfunctional relationships of all time. 

Harry comes over later that night, quieter than usual. Louis is already in bed reading a book when he comes in, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his sweats. He joins Louis on the bed, tapping the stem of his glasses gently. 

"Love your glasses," he says softly. 

"Mm," Louis hums in acknowledgement. 

"You didn't reply to my text," Harry says. It doesn't sound like an accusation, but he does sound upset. 

"Sorry, didn't see it till later." 

Harry nods jerkily. "So - um - who was that guy?" 

Louis turns to look at him sharply. "It was Nick," he says. "He's my mentor in my research class. I didn't realize I had to give you a list of everyone I'm allowed to associate with." 

"You don't," Harry says, hurt. "Lou, it's not like that - "

"You don't get to pick and choose when you want to acknowledge my existence, Harry," Louis snaps, because it's all he's been thinking about. "Me hanging out with some other guy doesn't give you the right to suddenly decide you want to be my boyfriend." 

"You keep saying that - like about how I'm not your boyfriend," Harry says. It's shaky and rushed and so obviously something that's been upsetting him. "But you know I - I _do_ think of you as my boyfriend. I mean. That's what I thought we were. Are. I don't know." 

"I don't know how to do this," Louis says. "I've never been in a relationship like this before. This isn't what it's supposed to be like." 

At that, Harry starts to breathe really sharply, like he's experiencing the beginning of a panic attack. "Are you - are you going to leave me? Is that what all of this is leading up to?" 

Louis stares at the ceiling. "I don't know," he says honestly. 

"I'll come out," Harry says desperately. He sits straight up in bed and he's really gasping now. "Lou, I will. I swear. If that's what it takes to keep you, I will." 

It's the first time Harry's ever even alluded to coming out, and even though it's what Louis has been hoping to hear for months, the words feel shallow. He doesn't really doubt that Harry means it, but the last thing he wants to do is force Harry out of the closet before he's ready. 

Harry wasn't wrong when he says it's not fair of Louis to ask that of him. It's nowhere near the same as wanting a normal boyfriend to come out of the closet. It's not a matter of Harry not being brave enough to tell his closest family and friends. 

It's different, and Louis knows that, because Harry's got so much riding on this - a career and a future and his whole _life_. There's talk of him going first overall in the draft, of entering the NFL after only two years in college, of going to New York or Seattle or Green Bay, and Louis wants to be there for him, wants to support him and help him make decisions, but he also kind of wants to pin him to the bed and cry and scream, _What about me what about me what about me?_

"Don't do that," Louis says. "I don't want you to do that." 

He holds Harry's hand while he tries to breathe normally. He wonders if that was actually a small panic attack, if the thought of Louis leaving him made him that afraid. None of it makes Louis feel any better. He wonders if anything will. 

"I know that it'd be so much easier for you to be with someone like Nick," Harry says. "And it's selfish of me to ask you to, like, wait for me. But I - I just really love you, okay, and I don't want to do any of this without you." 

It's the first time either one of them has ever said it. 

"I love you, too," Louis says, because he does, and there's no point in lying.

+

Things get better because there's really no other option. They're in love and their situation sucks, and even if they're both spiraling towards devastating heartbreak, it's worth it for the way Harry wakes Louis up to a home-cooked breakfast at seven a.m. before he's got to leave for the stadium. It's worth it for the way Louis kisses Harry on the lips and tells him, "Good luck today. I'll dump you if you lose this one." 

It's worth it for the way, three hours after the game where Harry had thrown three touchdown passes and beat the opposing team 35-17, he sends a text, _I told Niall._

Louis chokes on his coffee and Zayn has to smack his back five times before he can read him the text. Zayn, who has made no secret of how much he dislikes Louis being Harry's secret, actually cracks a grin. 

"Not bad," he says. "Maybe next he can tell the defensive line." 

"Don't be a prick," Louis says. He can't stop smiling. 

He's got the day off, so Harry ducks out of the after-party early to come over. He tackles Louis with a huge hug, and they stumble their way into his bedroom, kissing messily. Louis thinks Harry's still running on adrenaline from the game, or from the coming out to his best friend.

"I just, like, told him," Harry says between kisses. He reaches down to tug Louis' shirt off and attaches his mouth to one of Louis' small nipples, suckling so hard that Louis' hips involuntarily buck into Harry's crotch. "It was so easy. And he was just like, 'Oh, that makes sense,'" he gasps out. 

The sex is quick and rough and _so good_. Harry pulls Louis down on to his chest afterward, still kissing him, like he can't get enough. 

"I just couldn't stop thinking about losing you," he admits when they pull back for air, touching foreheads. "And that Nick guy. Thinking about you with him. I just - coming out seemed really easy, compared to that." 

Louis knocks their foreheads together enough to hurt. "You're such an idiot," he says with no bite. 

"I want to bring you home to my mom," Harry says suddenly. "And I want to meet yours."

And Louis has always been of the opinion that any talk of mothers should be an immediate mood-killer, but that announcement has him ready for round two. 

+

"So. Christmas break, then?" Harry suggests. 

"Alright," Louis agrees. 

+

It's not easy, considering Louis speaks to his mother at least three times a week and never once mentioned a boyfriend. When he calls to let her know that he's planning on bringing a boy home for the holidays, she honest-to-god shrieks. 

"Louis Tomlinson!" she says. "Have you been _seeing someone_?" 

"Um. Yes?" Louis goes for sheepish. 

There's a long pause. 

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she demands. 

"I feel like you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Louis says. "But I'm going to tell you anyway, and you have to tell the girls, okay?" 

He tells her, and she shrieks again. 

"But - um - we're not telling anybody right now," Louis says. _Right now_ , he thinks, _or maybe ever_. "So you can't tell your friends. And Lottie and Fizzy - they can't tell their friends, either. This is kind of a huge thing." 

"Louis," she says quietly. 

"I know, Mom," he says. "But I - I really like him, okay, so I need you to support me." 

"Of course," she says. "Always." 

+

They get the whole month of December off, so Louis makes the trip to Los Angeles first. He's going to spend a week with Harry's family, and then Harry is going to come out to spend a week with his family. From there, he'll fly to New York for the Heisman Trophy ceremony, and then back home for Christmas, and then back to school for playoff training.

At LAX, Louis is stupidly afraid of paparazzi hounding them. He wears sunglasses and his hoodie up, and tries to walk several steps behind Harry, until the younger boy laughs and starts pulling him along. 

"You know I'm not an actual celebrity, right?" Harry says. "No one's gonna recognize me." 

Louis doesn't think that's true, because some people are _definitely_ looking, but he doesn't mention it. If Harry wants to be disillusioned about his newfound fame, then that's his prerogative. 

Harry's sister picks them up at the airport in a rusty old Toyota. Louis doesn't know why, but he'd been expecting Harry's family to be wealthy. They've never talked about it, but Louis had just figured he'd had private tutors and football lessons and the whole nine yards. 

Their house is humble - small but homey - and Louis loves it right away. He gets along with Gemma from the get-go, because she's sharp and witty and they can tease Harry together. When he meets Anne and Robin, he almost pisses himself, but they're both so overwhelmingly lovely that Louis gets misty-eyed. 

"I'm so glad that you're here," Anne whispers into Louis' ears as she hugs him. 

The whole week is lovely. Harry drives him around to all of his old stomping grounds - his high school, the football field, the mall he'd gone to on weekends, even the tree where he'd had his first kiss. 

"Careful, or you'll make me jealous," Louis teases. Harry pushes him up against the tree and kisses him senseless. 

Louis pretends to be more interested in finding celebrities, but he's actually completely obsessed with learning about Harry's past. It's so easy to see him growing up here, becoming the man he is in this sprawling city. Louis feels like he's never going to stop falling in love with him.

+

Going to Louis' is different. It's not as calm as it was at Harry's - no doubt due to the four hell-spawn running around - so Louis does his best to help Harry feel relaxed. 

Lottie and Fizzy both giggle and blush whenever he's around, while the twins attack him with questions. He answers them all animatedly, from "What's your favorite color?" to "Football is a stupid sport, why do you play it?" 

Jay and Dan seem a little star struck by him at first, but they get over it pretty quickly. Harry's just like that; he's got a presence that makes everyone feel instantly comfortable around him. He makes everyone fall in love with him, and Louis' family is no exception. 

At one point, Jay smothers Louis in a hug and whispers, "I like this one, Boobear." 

Naturally Harry hears, and doesn't stop calling him "Boobear" for the rest of the week.

+

When Harry wins the Heisman - becoming only the fourth sophomore to ever do so - Louis's watching with his entire family, and nobody is all that surprised when he gets a phone call as soon as Harry's gone backstage. 

"Oh my god," Harry says as soon as Louis picks up. "What the fuck just happened?" 

"I'm so proud of you, babe," Louis says through his tears, and it's the first time Louis ever thinks he could do this forever.

+

The start of spring semester is infinitely better than the end of the fall semester.

Nobody at school - with the exception of Zayn and Perrie and Niall - knows about them, but Louis finds he doesn't much mind, when he can call home and tell his mother about something cute Harry did. It's not about coming out to the world, he thinks. Just to the people they care about. 

He barely sees Harry as the team trains for the final games of the season. They've had an undefeated season, so Louis thinks there's no way they won't do well, but Harry is freaking out 24/7. He stops sleeping at Louis' the week leading up to the game, claiming, "You're insanely distracting. Just two more weeks and then we can never speak of football again." 

It's not true, obviously. Harry's entering the draft in May. They're Not Talking About It Yet, because Harry can't focus on anything but the playoffs right now. 

They make it to the Championship - of course they do - and Harry actually graces Louis with his presence for a couple of days before he goes into "National Championship" mode, which essentially means Louis has a ghost boyfriend for a week and a half. 

The day before he's set to fly to California with the team, Harry comes over. He's got an envelope with two plane tickets, a hotel booking, and two passes to the game.

"Come watch me play?" he asks. 

"What if I'm a bad luck charm?" Louis says, examining the envelope nervously. 

Harry laughs out loud at that. 

+

Louis takes Zayn, despite how much he "doesn't give a shit about football." 

"Don't you give a shit about being a good friend?" Louis demands. Zayn gives in, eventually, because a free trip to California and tickets to a game that would be worth over a thousand dollars makes him feel "glamorous." 

It's January and hot out. Louis spends the day before the game lounging by the hotel pool and sending Harry silly texts that he hopes he'll read before going to bed. 

"You're a proper WAG now," Zayn tells him. 

Louis sighs dramatically, flipping his fringe out of his face. "I really prefer WAP. Wives and partners." 

"So you have given this some thought," Zayn notes. 

Louis sticks his tongue out at him.

+

Louis wakes up in a cold sweat the morning of the game, like he's experiencing sympathy nerves. He sends off a good morning text to Harry and splashes his face with cold water. The bad luck charm was obviously a joke, but like - What if he's a bad luck charm? 

Louis and Zayn's seats are in the "friends and family" section, only a couple rows down from Anne, Robin, Gemma, and Harry's dad, Des. Gemma moves up to join them, saying, "Harry wanted to get us all together, but there wasn't enough space." 

It's not like Louis can complain, considering he's situated in an air-conditioned enclave in a comfy chair with access to a box filled with food. 

"He's so glad you came, Louis," Gemma says offhandedly. 

Louis grins anxiously but can't look away from the field, where the team is warming up. He can't see Harry's expression from this far away, but he's sure that he's absolutely freaking out. Louis is, too. 

Louis clenches Zayn's hands for the entire game, and Zayn is kind enough not to comment on it. The halftime show might be good; Louis will never be sure, because he's too busy stuffing his face with food to tide him over for another half. He downs a flute of champagne in one go before he realizes that Anne's right behind him. 

He freezes, but she laughs. "It's nerve-wracking, isn't it? I feel like I'm the one playing." 

They toast to that, laughing through the nerves. 

+

They win. 

It was a close game, but Harry threw a touchdown pass in the last minute that secured the victory. Louis almost passes out before it's over. 

He almost passes out again, when in a post-game interview, they speak to a breathless and sweaty Harry. Louis is watching on a TV in the box, because it's impossible to see anything through the madness on the field. Harry's still in his jersey, but he's got a National Champions hat on, and he's grinning so wide Louis can't look away. Gemma stands beside him, squeezing his hand. 

"There's so many people," he's saying into a microphone. "But just, uh. Obviously I have to thank my mom and dad and my stepdad and my sister and my boyfriend. And my teammates, obviously my teammates are the only reason we're even here - "

Louis is not sure he's awake until Zayn claps him in the back of his head. When he turns around, Zayn's beaming. "Holy fuck!" he says, and his hug is the only thing that keeps Louis on his feet. 

+

It's huge news. Of course it is. One doesn't just come out in a post-game interview after winning a National Championship game and expect the news to go away overnight. 

But in the first few days, Harry doesn't have to hear much of it, because he's locked away in Louis' room with a National Championship ring and a boyfriend to pay attention to. 

"You didn't have to do that," Louis says softly, tracing Harry's nose with his fingers. 

"Duh," Harry says. "But I wanted to. Would you ride me while wearing the hat, or is that too much?" 

+

Later on, Harry will give an interview for Out Magazine, and become a spokesperson for almost every LGBTA organization that asks him to. He'll say it's because he "might as well," since he's out anyway, but Louis will know it's because he's such a frustratingly good person that he wouldn't have it any other way. 

He'll enter the draft and freak out for months straight, claiming he's going to fail tremendously and disappoint everyone. 

And one day, a couple of weeks before the draft, Louis will wake him up by saying, "I was just thinking. There are grad schools, like. Pretty much everywhere, right?"

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: loupinoe


End file.
